Back Again
by HowDoYouWords
Summary: Prompt was that the pairing be Dean/Castiel, or Destiel, and one of them dies (Cas in this one), and after a month, comes back unexpectedly. Not a zombie fic, he's totally normal. And this is set in the future!verse, by the way. Except 2009!Dean never came and no one's dead yet. No specified year, just SPN future. Written for a friend on twitter, fuzzzy22. ; v ; 3 T for brief lang


Written just for you, bb. ;DD  
Written for: fuzzzy22 on twitter ; v ;

A/N: Oh yeah, and if you missed it in the summary, this is future!verse. Like 2014, except hey! Past!Dean never showed up, woohoo. So it's just a future!fic except 2009!Dean never came around and no one's dead yet, so.  
Awesome.  
Thanks for coming by to read it, omg. Feeling special. ; v ; So I hope they're not too outragously out of character, this was really really rushed bc I was trying to finish it today but omG WE WERE EVERYWHERE TODAY OF ALL DAYS. We went to the Hands on Science Center with my 7 year old nephew and that took 542305928375 years to finally get done with omg. Then we came back to the house for like, ten minutes to get ready to go out again to go out to eat. And I had maybe an hour and a half or two before we left to the HOSC to write this and then I had to hurry and finish this so I could work on other stuff so omg I'm so sorry if it's not so great and it's rushed and OOC bb, pls forgive. ; ^ ; Again, written for fuzzzy22 on twitter bc sHE WROTE ME DOMESTIC DESTIEL AND IT WAS SO FUCKING SWEET JFC I'M sOBBBING. Prompt was her idea, she requested it and I gladly wrote it for her~ DestielPartner1 dies, DestielPartner2 is super upset and left behind for funeral, and 1 month later, DestielPartner2 is finally strong enough to start putting DestielPartner1's stuff away, and then he hears a noise and thinks 'oMG SAM WTF'(in this case, Sam is busy being Lucifer, but y'know whatevs) and turns aROUnD AND IT'S DestielPartner1! FabULOUS. So that's the gist of this.  
Anyway, story, I'm sorry. Wow, long A/N. But I'm done, so reviews are super and any sort of helpful/constructive criticism is fabulous and appreciated. Thanks, bbs.

Disclaimer: In no way do I own Supernatural. If I did, Destiel would so be canon rn and Gabriel would be alive. So would Balthazar and Bobby and (WOW SPOILER IF YOU HAVENT SEEN 8x17) Meg. omg. ;_;

* * *

What a very human thing it was that took his angel away.

Dean watched silently as members of the camp covered the freshly dug grave, the only sound being shovels lifting soil and depositing it onto the box that held his former warrior of God. Originally, Dean had planned on digging the grave and burying Castiel himself. One look at the angel's frozen face had made him reluctantly change his mind. Dean had failed him enough already. Letting others lay him to rest was better than having the one who had killed him do it. Chuck, Rufus, Becky, and Garth quietly shoveled more soil over the grave, setting aside their mourning for later when Castiel wasn't needing tending to. Those four were the only ones Dean would allow to let be a part of Castiel's funeral. It wasn't much of one. No songs, no spoken prayers. No one offered to speak and no one asked anyone to. It was silent and quick. They had posts to watch and Croats to kill. Finding Castiel a spot where his body wouldn't be dug up took time. Dean had given it without hesitation. Dean glanced up from the 8 foot hole to Becky.

Her bangs hung in her dirty face, sweat rolling down her jaw to her neck as she panted and shoveled more soil onto her fallen friend. The last friendship Dean had expected to be made in the camp was Castiel and Becky's. Becky hadn't been a strong person when they'd last met before the virus had spread, and Castiel certainly was. Now though, they had apparently switched roles. Cas was often too stoned or drunk to remember where he was, much less what was ever going on. Becky would always find him though, and walk (half staggering, for Cas) with him back to his cabin to force-feed him Tylenol and make him sleep it off. Becky had been there for him. Green eyes flickered from Becky over to Chuck.

Chuck, the socially awkward and alcoholic prophet. Well, he'd used to be. Now the camp's sober supplies manager, he hadn't much changed regarding his social skills. Still stuttering over what they were running low on and where they might find it. But he'd made a good confidant. More than once, Dean had walked into Cas' cabin to find Chuck sitting beside him, speaking in a lowered voice with a serious expression etched on his face. They'd often unload on each other. Cas would never say anything to Becky. He didn't want to scare her off, like he thought he might be able to. Chuck would listen, though, unjudgemental, and in return, Cas would hear what Chuck's worries were and what was on his mind. Chuck had been there for him. Rufus, heaving a grunt as he unloaded his share of soil onto the grave, brought Dean out of his thoughts on Chuck.

Strong, capable, respectable, dependable Rufus. Much of the camp looked up to him. An older, wiser, and more experienced fighter was among them, and they were well aware. Cas had been Rufus' ally. Over the years as the virus sweeped across the states, Cas had become quite the marksman. When he wasn't out of it, he practically never missed a shot. Rufus had been quick to liking him. He'd talk to him about defense plans, ambushes, and what hot spots should be targeted next. It had turned out that Cas was a good battle strategist. Rufus had brought out the useful talent in him. Rufus had given him a purpose besides being an extra gun. Rufus had been there for him.

Garth Fitzgerald IV paused for a moment, leaning on his shovel and wiping his brow with the back of his hand. The grave was nearly filled by now, Dean noted, still standing silently to the side. Garth spared him a glance, gasping in air still as he rested. He looked so much older now. So much less like the goofy Garth they had known seven years ago. He had harder skin now, and was much more muscular. Running from Croats did that to you. His eyes weren't bright anymore. Not like they'd been before all of this. Garth's role in his and Cas' friendship was the mood uplifter. Talking to Chuck always brought a lot of the weight off of Cas' shoulders, and it always made him feel a bit better, but there was a reason that he was always drowning himself in drugs and women and alcohol. Garth took some of that reason away for a while. He'd tell the former angel about his missions as a hunter, how the monsters would always be Garth'd if he could help it. He'd tell him about Mr. Fizzles and how his nieces always loved it when he'd bring that old sock out. He'd tell him about his life before the Croatoan. Before everything went wrong. And in his own way that only Cas could accomplish, he helped Garth by just listening. Cas would say nothing for hours, just nod or smile in response to Garth's stories. He helped Garth relive his happier life by staying silent and letting Garth get lost in his own stories for hours. And then, when Garth was finally done with the story of the night, Cas would offer him a warm, genuine smile and say thank you. He would always thank Garth for sharing his treasured memories with him, for making them both escape this hell of a life they were living for a couple of hours. And that would be it. Garth would say goodnight and go to bed until he stopped by again to tell him more about his life. And Cas would always listen. Garth had been there for him.

The sound of patting caught Dean's attention.

Garth, Becky, Chuck, and Rufus were done and were standing quietly, watching him. Dean said nothing, only nodded before bringing his attention back to the now filled grave. Still silent, they walked back towards the camp, leaving Dean alone with nothing but a grave. Dean did nothing, only stood vigilance over the grave for a long time, thinking. The last time he and Cas had ever had a conversation that wasn't about the Croatoan, it had been when Sam said yes. It had been when Cas had held him tightly against him while he sobbed into the chest of his angel, drowning in grief for his brother. For the fact that he hadn't saved Sam, that he hadn't talked to him in years, that he'd let his little brother be taken. The last time he'd ever let Cas see him. The last time he'd ever opened up to him and let Cas soothe him. The last time he'd let Cas love him. That night all those years ago was the last time he'd let Cas touch him, let him stroke his hair and kiss his tears away. And the next day, Dean acted like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't spent half the night tangled in sheets with that angel, trying to get lost in Castiel and his touches and kisses like he was his lifeline. Dean became cold and harsh towards him, for letting himself be vulnerable and broken and small in Cas' arms. Dean hadn't been there for him. Even though he had always been there for Dean. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Dean took a shaky breath he would forever deny.

"Hey, babe..." he started, fiddling with the keys to the jeep in his coat pocket. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but silence came somewhat as a surprise to him. Dean studied the gravemarker Becky had made and laid out on top of the freshly turned soil. Wire that had been carefully and lovingly formed into wings. Putting a name and a date on a stone would have made it too obvious a body was here, and therefore making Cas' corpse not safe. Dean licked his suddenly dry lips, trying to think of what to say. What could you say to someone you had practically killed? Dean had been the reason for Cas' falling, no matter how much Cas tried to convince him otherwise. He had been given the choice to leave with the angels, or stay in a damned world with Dean. Had he left, he'd still be an angel of the Lord, happy with his brothers and sisters in a world that wasn't hell bound. Had he not chosen Dean, he would be singing with the choir in a much better and more preferable way. Not cold in the ground with someone like Dean to secretly mourn him.

He felt himself begin to get restless with his inability to say anything. After all the shit Dean had put him through, he could at least try and say something. There was no way to repay him for everything he had done for Dean, or to apologize for everything Dean did or didn't do that he should have. Dean had been the reason for far too many people's deaths, not just lately. First his own father, then Ellen and Jo, his surrogate father, his brother for christsakes, and now Cas. Cas, who had never blamed him for anything, who had treated Dean like the ground he walked on was holy. Dean cursed and hung his head at the tingling he felt on the tip of his nose and behind his eyes, his throat feeling constricted as he squeezed the bridge of his nose.

"Dammit, Cas, I'm so sorry," he breathed unsteadily, droplets escaping from his eyelashes' hold and dropping to the ground.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you, I'm sorry I failed you." Words came easily now, but they weren't the composed, respectful ones he'd been trying so hard to string together somehow. They were broken and desperate.

"I'm sorry I made you fall and then abandoned you." Why did he sound like he was being choked? "I'm sorry I ignored you and pretended like you weren't one of the only people who had stayed with me after all of this, after everything." His eyes hurt, he realized. "I'm sorry I didn't do anything to try and make being human easier, I know it's awful," he sobbed, rubbing his forehead, head still angled downwards.

"Jesus, Cas, if I could do anything to make it up to you, I would," he managed to get out, pulling a hand down his face to try and rid himself of his tears. "Really, I would. Anything. Everyone else was there for you but me," he tried to tell him, trying to make him understand somehow how much he regretted it. "I didn't deserve you, I _don't_ deserve you, and baby, I'd do anything to give you what you should have," he said desperately, his voice breaking again at the end. He crouched down, running his fingers through the soil and over the wire angel wings.

"I'd do anything to make sure you were okay this time around, and that I was there for you like you were there for me," he whispered, tear streaks evident.

Dean closed his eyes and prayed for the first time in eight years.

* * *

A month had passed since Cas had died. He hadn't let anyone move into his cabin. Becky and Garth would go in there sometimes, and he let them. Rufus even went in once, a couple of weeks afterwards. Chuck didn't go near it in fear of becoming too emotional. Making sure a camp that had a half a hundred people in it was supplied didn't give a lot of time for tears. Dean hadn't been inside yet. He wasn't ready to lose it again like he had at Cas' shitty funeral. People were starting to question why Dean hadn't let anyone move in. His reason (he was going to go through it first but hadn't had time yet) was wearing a bit thin. 'No time' in an entire month was stretching. He had said that he'd go through it today a week ago, but had yet to do it. It was already dark and he still hadn't stepped foot into the cabin. Now here he was, standing at the edge of the steps he hadn't walked up nearly as often as he should have. Letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, he made his way up and into the cabin to put away his things. Becky had helped (saying the place needed a woman's touch anyway, before specifying a woman that wasn't sprawled out on a bed) by packing away some books and clothes for him, leaving the rest for Dean to sort through.

Dean looked around the room, taking in the things Cas had surrounded himself in every day. Some books were still out, guns and ammo on the table, papers spread across a desk with an uncapped pen beside them (plans he'd made with Rufus, most likely), and the bed was neatly made. Dean walked over and dragged his fingers across the comforter, remembering his night with the former angel when Dean had been at his worst and most vulnerable. Glancing towards the ajar door to make sure no one was there, Dean sat down on the bed, picking up one of the pillows and holding it like it might break if he wasn't careful. Dean ran his hand over the top of it, thoughtful. He wondered if it still smelled like him. Like mountain air and fresh rain and pine trees. Risking the chance of either someone walking in or the pillow smelling like one of his whores, Dean brought the pillow up to his face and inhaled deeply. A small, unwilling smile grew behind the pillow when he smelled the earthy scent that was Cas. About to indulge in another, Dean almost jumped at the sound of soft, padding footsteps. Immediately pulling the pillow away from his face, Dean whirled around to see who had invaded Cas' cabin. His heart stopped and he couldn't breathe. When had he fallen asleep? He had to be dreaming. There was no other explanation except that he had fucking lost it. He drank in the sight, regardless. His hair still spiked up in black tufts. His eyes still seemed to glow a blue aura, like he was still a celestiel being. There was no fucking way this was real.

"Dean?"

Castiel's voice was still deep and was still gravelly. It was still soothing and it was still Dean's favorite sound in the world. Dean stood, the pillow falling onto the bed when he stood up and turned to face him.

"...Cas..?" he asked warily, eyes wide at the sight. Cas nodded, his longer hair twitching at the motion. He stepped toward Dean, making Dean take a step back instinctively. Castiel looked ready to say something, but Dean held his hand up to stop him.

"You're not real. I know you're not," he said, pointing at him. Cas nodded again, fighting to keep a smile at bay. He opened his mouth, about to reply, but Dean stopped him again.

"_Don't._ I fucking watched you be buried, I know you're not real." Dean felt anger tingling up his spine. Lucifer must have found a way to fuck with him somehow.

"Dean-" he started, holding a hand up to show he meant no harm and walking towards him.

"I know Lucifer found some way to do this, what are you?!" he barked, rage flaring and raising his gun from his holster. How did Lucifer even know Cas was dead?! Someone in the camp? His mind raced, trying to think of who it might be that was working on the other side.

"Dean, Lucifer had nothing to do with this, trust me," he said, a humorless laugh following through. Dean glared.

"_Trust_ you? _I don't even know what you are!_" he tried to keep from yelling. Causing panic in the camp was the last thing he needed to do. Cas dropped his hands, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I used to be an angel," he started, placing one finger on another to count. "Now I'm human. At least, I'm pretty sure. I just dug myself out of 8 feet of dirt to try and see the light of day," he shrugged, nonchalant. Dean tightened his hold on his gun.

"You're not Cas, stop pretending to be." The look-alike's eyes softened slightly, barely noticeable.

"Okay then, how can I prove to you that I am, in fact, Cas?" he asked, voice gentler than before. Dean swallowed. No way in Hell was this Cas. No matter how much he wanted to believe him to be, he wasn't. Maybe he wasn't even _real_. Maybe Lucifer was just messing with his head and there wasn't even anything _there_, Cas or not.

"How about I just start from the beginning? When we first met." Dean brought his eyes back up to meet the other's, silent. Cas waited for a moment, then spoke up. "Okay, I'll take that as a go-ahead," he said. Dean said nothing.

"Alright, first, I went into Hell and brought you back. Then we met in a barn once you were back on Earth, safe and sound. After that-"

"Anyone could know that," Dean interrupted. Cas looked at him, expectant. Dean stayed quiet still.

"Then what do you suggest I do to prove to you I'm me?" he asked. Dean stayed silent, thinking, still tightly gripping his gun and pointing it at 'Cas'. They both stayed quiet for a few moments, Dean fighting with himself on whether or not to use a test he'd thought of.

"Okay." At the sound of Dean's voice, Cas brought his attentions to him again, away from the far wall he had been studying. Dean fidgeted a moment. It was something only Cas would know, he knew.

"Okay," he repeated, quieter than before. "When-" he cut himself off, collected himself. Dammit, if this really was Cas- "when was the last time I went to you? And why?" He saw the shift in Cas' expression, the bob his Adam's apple made when he swallowed thickly, the tightening of his lips. Dean waited, trying not to show emotion as he continued to hold the gun in line with Cas' head. Cas took in a slow breath, trying to put words together.

"The last time you came to me was three years ago," he answered. Dean's jaw clenched in anticipation. "Because Sam had said yes to Lucifer. And you felt guilty for it," he finished, meeting Dean's eyes.

Dean's heart skipped a beat. Or two. Neither of them said anything, only stared at the other. Dean eventually lowered his pistol after a moment, not breaking eye contact with the man before him. A lump had formed in his throat at some point, making it difficult to swallow. Or breathe. Maybe that was just the effect Cas had on him. Cas hesitantly reached a hand out, giving Dean an out so he wouldn't have to worry about making the first move. Cas always did things like that. He always had. Trying to make things easier for Dean. Doing things so Dean wouldn't have to. That one move, holding his hand out so Dean wouldn't have to appear vulnerable again, broke him. Last time he had appeared vulnerable, he had gone to not acknowledging Cas' existance half the time. Cas was being vulnerable to show Dean he didn't want that. Dean's eyes flickered down to Cas' offered hand before traveling back up to his eyes, a hint of a watery smile on Dean's face. Cas looked about to tell him something when Dean strode across the room and gathered him up in his arms. Cas said nothing, only returned the embrace just as tightly. He scrunched up the fabric of Cas' shirt, pulling him as close to his body as physically possible and breathing him in. _He was really here, actually here._ Solid and warm and here. It was like he had never been gone. He still smelled of pine trees and mountain air and fresh rain, and he had no qualms about Dean holding him so close. After three years of almost no physical contact, Cas was drinking it all in like he'd been dying for it. And with the ferocity of Dean's hug, it was only then that Dean stopped denying he had been, too. As cheesy as it sounded, Dean really had no idea how long they stayed like that, desperate for the other's touch and eager to give it. Hugs turned to caresses, brushes of lips became desperate and needy, caresses eventually to gropes. From quiet and soft to loud and hard. Three years of nothing from each other was easily made up in one night, a love that had never really died rekindled in mere hours. Despite a bloody and violent war on the outside, in the warmth and safety of Castiel's bed wrapped up tightly in heavy covers and each other, for the first time in years, they were fine. Completely and totally fine.

* * *

What the fuck kind of ending was that. Jesus Christ. I am sO SORRY. IT WAS RUSHED AND I NEEDED TO GET THIS DONE IN JUST A LITTLE BIT OF TIME BC SCHOOL AND HOME AND FAMILY STUFF AND OMG DIANA I AM SO SORRY. I ONLY PUT LIKE AN HOUR AND A HALF OR TWO HOURS IN THIS MAYBE TWO AND A HALF I HAVE NO IDEA BUT OMG ITS SO RUSHED IM SO SORRY PLS FORGIVE. OMG cRYONNG SO SORRY. AND OMG ITS strikethroughKIND OF/strikethrough REALLY CHEESY AND IM SO SORRY IF THEYRE OUT OF CHARACTER AND EVERYTHING OR ANYTHING AND JUST PLS ACCEPT MY APOLOGIES OMG sORrYY ; A ;

ANYWAY PLS STILL LOVE ME EVEN IF YOU HATED IT SO SORRY.

Kisses, HDYW~


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